


island trips and jaffa lumps

by Skyuni123



Series: The Brokenwood Chronicles [2]
Category: The Brokenwood Mysteries
Genre: Cults, Forests, Gen, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Mystery, Non-Canon Sexuality, Other, Team Dynamics, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-05
Updated: 2017-12-18
Packaged: 2018-11-23 19:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 9,703
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11408592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyuni123/pseuds/Skyuni123
Summary: Morning breaks across Brokenwood Island with the crack of a gunshot. It's been hours, and they're still not letting up.It's the middle of winter in Brokenwood, and they've walked right into a trap.





	1. jaffa lumps

Morning breaks across Brokenwood Island with the crack of a gunshot. It's been hours, and they're still not letting up.

 

Inside the junky wooden cabin, Sam Breen and Kristen Sims are hunkered together for warmth. Behind them, a group of impressionable youths, some broken and bleeding, do much the same.

 

It's the middle of winter in Brokenwood, and they've walked into a trap.

 

 

 

_ some time earlier _

 

June 25th dawns cool and grey in Brokenwood, and Detective Sam Breen stumbles into the Police Station with a splitting headache. It’s a Sunday and church bells ring out in the foggy air, but he’s feeling anything but reverent. 

 

He sinks down at his desk and squints at the bright screen of his computer, regretting taking on the morning shift. In hindsight, maybe he should have gone  _ slightly  _ lighter on the beers the previous night.

 

“I have good news you’ll like and good news you won’t like.” Detective Kristen Sims says, in lieu of a greeting, and pulls a chair from her own desk to face him. “Which do you want first?”

 

“Is there a good answer to that question?” Breen groans, wishing she wasn’t so cheerful first thing on a Sunday morning.

 

“Yes.” Kristen replies, very resolutely. “I have coffee. And [Jaffa Lumps](http://www.nzherald.co.nz/business/news/article.cfm?c_id=3&objectid=11877464).” 

 

“Did you  _ make  _ the coffee?” He asks, eying her warily. He might be in a bit of a bad way right now, but there’s some things he just won’t lower himself to.

 

“No?” She says. “Mrs Jenkins’ son saw a ‘giant ginger creature’ wandering home at three-ish last night and Mrs Jenkins figured that said ginger creature might need a wake-up call this morning. Coffee’s on the house.” 

 

“That’s nice of her.” Breen replies, accepting the coffee and the packet of Jaffa Lumps. The packet rustles very loudly and hurts his ears. “What’s the other news?”

 

“Your ex is taking a bunch of kids from Brokenwood Outreach on an outward bound trip to the Island next week and he wants us to accompany him.” Kristen smirks and steals a jaffa lump. 

 

Balls. Well, this changes things. 

 

 

“Do I have to.” Breen complains, later, when Mike has finally dragged himself into the office, looking vaguely worse for wear. The All Blacks won against the Lions the previous night, and he supposes that most of the town will be feeling it this morning.

 

“I don’t know, Breen.” Mike says, looking at him cryptically. “Do you have to? Is it your career to support and better this community?”

 

He supposes it’s the best answer he’s going to get at 9.30am on a Sunday.

 

“Why do  _ I  _ have to go?” He asks instead, “I know I’m like the comedic sidekick or whatever - I came to terms with that a long time ago - but there are other officers in this district.”

 

“Shaun asked for you and Kristen especially.”

 

“Why can’t  _ you  _ go?”

 

Mike sits down and eyes him beadily, “I can’t go because I’m on leave next week. Also, I’m your boss. It’s just a week away supervising a bunch of troublesome kids? How bad can it be?”

 

Breen hopes that he’s right.

 

 

“You’re rather calm about this.” Breen says, later. His headache has subsided after quite a lot of panadol and most of the jaffa lumps but he’s still disgruntled.

 

Kristen is in the middle of paperwork and probably doesn’t want to be disturbed. There’s been a bit of a lull in actual crime recently, but that doesn’t mean that there’s not paperwork to do. “I don’t have a problem with not being in the office for a week and being paid for it.”

 

“I don’t either!”

 

“Then  _ why  _ are you complaining?” Kristen shoots him a look that suggests she knows exactly why.

 

“You know why I don’t really like Brokenwood Island.” 

 

“I  _ seriously  _ doubt that under-privileged kids will be hanging out with your parents and the rest of the hippies.” She says calmly, eyes back down on her paperwork. “It’s a pretty big island, you know.”

 

“Yeah, unfortunately I do.”

 

“It’s not just the island thing that’s annoying you, is it?” Kristen’s pretending to be entirely focused on her paperwork, but it’s obvious she’s interested.

 

“I don’t know what you mean.” He does, but he’s got to keep some things from his coworkers. 

 

“Mmm, sure.” She says nothing more, but the disbelieving tone in her voice is enough.

 

 

 

Brokenwood Outreach is a relatively new program that takes ‘at-risk’ young adults in the area and helps them get their lives back on track through positive activities. It’s not the program Breen has a problem with. The program is  _ excellent  _ and something that Brokenwood really needs. 

 

It’s the execution. One of Breen’s exs’, Shaun, fresh off the back of ‘turning his life around’ (or so he says), helps run the damn thing. 

 

Breen’s… not keen… on that part. Breakups are hard but his was particularly traumatic and he’s not keen on going back there. 

 

 

Still, Monday (week) comes, and he’s packed and ready down at the docks with Kristen (and surprisingly enough, Jared Morehu) ready to get the boat to the Island. There’s been no traumatic murders, no massive heists, and he’s not managed to get out of it.    
  


He doesn’t have a clue of what the next week will bring.


	2. moonlight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if ur into maps of locations, check out this link. i made a map for brokenwood island (and it's spoiler free) 
> 
> [MAP](http://imgur.com/zIWtiV0)

“Five days of walking!” Shaun announces, far too cheerfully. “We’re going to have a good time.”

 

(Looking around at the expressions of the young adults surrounding them, Breen’s pretty sure they disagree.)

 

“We’re going to take the Northern Trail to the Ridge Hut - that’s two days of walking - then follow the Peak Trail up to the top of the extinct volcano to the Observatory. After that, we’ll come back down to the Ridge Hut and head towards Sunvale. Any questions?”

 

A girl with tightly tied red hair asks, “Why’s it called the Northern Trail if you can walk it both ways?”

 

“I don’t know!” Shaun replies, still seeming excessive and over-eager. “Any other questions?”

 

The teens are sullen and silent. Jared puts up a hand, and then thinks better of it.

 

“Good. Get your packs and unpack them onto the tables so I can check you’re not bringing anything unnecessary.” Shaun finishes, and then waves them off to do as they’re told.

  
  


When they’d arrived at the Island, they’d found Shaun and six sulky teens sitting inside the DOC office. They’d waved off the boat captain, Breen had mourned at the lack of mobile coverage, and Shaun had greeted them all warmly.

 

In all, it wasn’t a terrible start.

 

But now? Before the start of a five day long trek that involves climbing up the top of an extinct volcano? He’s not keen. Not keen at all.

 

(He supposes that  _ at least  _ the volcano is extinct. That’s one less thing to worry about.)

 

The teens they’re babysitting (??? He doesn’t quite know if that’s the right word. Shaun had mentioned something about needing one adult per 1.5 kids for the Outward Bound regulations, but Breen hadn’t really been listening) are as follows:

 

Sam. The redhead. He likes her immediately, and not just because they share a name. 

Jack. Jared’s cousin. Seem rambunctious, but that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

Maia. From the hippie commune on the Island. Sarcastic.

Brodie. Sullen. Not especially pleased to be here. (He knows the feeling.)

Megan. Antsy and nervous.

Dan. Raring to go.

 

Of course, these are just first impressions. Breen knows that they’re all at-risk kids, but he doesn’t know  _ why.  _ They’re not dangerous, he knows he would have been told if they were, but they’re possibly… unpredictable (which is likely no fault of their own).

.

He rejoins Jared while the kids move to unpack their bags on the tables. “So, hiking, huh?”

 

“Have you ever hiked before, mate?” Jared asks, nudging him. He looks more than delighted. 

 

“I lived on this island for the first eighteen years of my life.” Breen replies, vaguely offended. “...No. No I have not.” 

 

If anything, Jared’s amused (and slightly smug) grin gets even bigger. “You are going to be  _ so  _ sore by the end of this.”

 

“No I’m not.” He doesn’t know why he’s denying it. Jared is right. (Beyond a shadow of a doubt.)

 

“You are!” Jared’s practically gleeful at the thought. “I don’t care if you’ve fought criminals and stuff, nothing breaks you like a climb up the ol’ maunga.” He gestures out the window at the mountain, which looms annoying large behind him. 

 

Breen doesn’t know how tall it is. Breen doesn’t  _ want  _ to know how tall it is.

 

“She’s a good 700 metres high, by the way.” Jared says, chortling away. “It’s a good climb.”

 

Well, he’s sure if Jared says it’s a ‘good climb’ it’ll be a  _ good  _ (painful) climb.

 

“Boys.” Kristen says, wandering over from where she’s been helping a couple of the teens unpack their packs. “What’s going on?”

 

“Breen’s never hiked before.”

 

“...Oh.” She says, slowly, and Breen knows he’s in trouble. She’s going to find out a way to hold this over him for weeks, he just knows it. “Well, when you do get cramps, I’m sure Shaun can help ease them for you. I’ve heard he’s good with his hands.” She winks and swans off back to the other group.

 

“I’m fairly sure that’s workplace harassment!” Breen calls to her, but she doesn’t turn back around. This is unfair. This is  _ very, very  _ unfair.

 

Jared is still chortling. Breen’s never taken him to be a smug person, but the man is pretty damn pleased. “What?” 

 

“That  _ was  _ pretty good.” 

 

“Just because I’m going on a week-long walk in the vicinity of someone I once dated doesn’t mean I can’t control myself. Surely you’ve met up with your exs before?” Breen pouts. He can’t help it. 

 

“Well, in Brokenwood they tend to  _ die _ , but I see your point. No stress, mate.” Jared taps him on the shoulder and goes to find something else to do.

  
  


Walking from the DOC office to the Silver Hut isn’t so bad. The teens are… quiet - if quiet is another word for ‘scheming’ - and it’s flat. They hike along a ridge that overlooks a beach, and honestly, if it wasn’t the middle of winter (and therefore, fucking  _ cold)  _ it’d actually be kinda nice.

 

He just wishes that Shaun hadn’t confiscated all their phones. “There’s no cell signal here, there’s no point!” He had said.

 

(Yes, but there’s always time to get a pic for Instagram. Honestly.)

 

The Silver Hut is called Silver Hut because it’s next to the wreck of a boat called the Silver Lady. The boat had run up onto the reef nearby in the late 80s and hasn’t budged since. 

 

It’s darn cool, if Breen says so himself. 

 

The walk’s only taken a few hours, but they stop for the night all the same. Slipping his pack off his back  _ hurts,  _ but he’s not going to tell anyone about it. They rib him enough already.

 

Just because he’s afraid of spiders and not exactly the pinnacle of small-town Kiwi masculinity doesn’t mean he deserves to get harassed all the time, dammit.

 

They’ve had to carry most of their supplies, so he fetches himself a muesli bar and waits to be told what to do. The trip is going surprisingly well so far, so he’s expecting something to go wrong.

 

A guy (who he  _ thinks  _ is called Dan) sits down beside him. “You’re Sam, right? Do I know you from somewhere?” His tone isn’t exactly accusatory, but it’s a bit blunt. 

 

“I’ve no idea.” Breen replies, because he doesn’t.

 

“Yes…” Dan clicks his fingers as though he’s remember something. “Got it. April, two years ago. You arrested my dad for beating on my mum.”

 

Breen holds his breath. This isn’t exactly the most ideal of situations. He can’t quite remember the arrest, but obviously the younger man can. “I did.”

 

“He was an arse. Thanks for that.” 

 

“It’s… uh, no problem??” He replies, not entirely sure what he should say in this situation. He gets anger and rage often from the families of those who he’s helped put away, but praise is a lot less… common.

 

“Cheers, man.” Dan pats him on the shoulder in a way that a lot of people seem to have been doing lately and wanders off.

 

Breen lets out a breath. What the fuck.

  
  


If he’s honest, the outside isn’t too bad. He’s not seen any spiders (though he  _ knows  _ they’re just lurking around somewhere, the bastards) and it’s pretty.

 

He’d prefer it if it wasn’t so bloody cold out, but then again, he can’t have everything.

 

The teens are off doing whatever teens do when they don’t have the internet to occupy them - he’s not been a teen for at least ten years, cut him some slack - so he sits out on the balcony of the hut and stares off across the sea. The sun’s just set, but the moon is out and casts a silvery hue across the tops of the waves.

 

Yeah. Yeah, this trip isn’t terrible at all.

 

His musing is interrupted by the sound of the door opening. He turns, the bright light from inside the hut somewhat of a shock. 

 

Shaun. Ah. This… changes things.

 

“Jared’s got them playing Monopoly in there and Kristen’s reading.” Shaun explains, shutting the door behind him. “I think I’m being usurped.”

 

Breen moves to get up. “I should be doing something then.”

 

“Sit down, egg, it’s fine. You guys are here to stop the kids causing trouble, and they’re not. Calm down.” Shaun moves to sit next to him on the edge of the balcony. 

 

“They’ve been good so far. Better than I have.”

 

“Two months ago I don’t think I even would have gotten any of them to come out here without complaint. I can’t say that they’re all happy to be here, but they’re better than they were.” 

 

“I hate to ask…” Breen asks, biting his tongue, “But what’s up with them? They seem a bit rat-bagish, but nothing major.” 

 

He immediately regrets asking. It’s an invasion of privacy and he really shouldn’t be so shitty towards people he’s just met. 

 

Shaun doesn’t look very happy with him either. “They’re people who shouldn’t be defined by their pasts. They’ve all just been dealt a shit hand.” 

 

“Yeah.” 

 

“Megan? She’s the nicest kid around but she came out to her parents and they disowned her. Dan and Brodie both have parents in jail, but they’re taking it two different ways. Jack? He’s a bit of a troublemaker and some people have a problem with that.” Shaun pauses, takes a breath. “Sam… is Sam. Maia had a run-in with drugs. These kids don’t deserve the lives that they’ve been given and they don’t deserve to be judged for their pasts.”

 

Breen feels a lump in his throat when he swallows, “Man… I never woul-”

 

“I know you wouldn’t but some people would.” The defeat in his voice is enough. “I used to be an arse - you know that as well as I do - and I’ve changed and it’s still hung over my head. These kids have grown so much and don’t deserve to be labelled as ‘bad’.”

 

“I’m not disagreeing.” 

 

“I know.” Shaun sighs. “Sorry. I get up in arms sometimes. You know.”   

 

Breen does know. Shaun’s changed, Shaun’s better than he ever was, but there’s still some of that faint anger simmering under the surface. “You’re doing good. Don’t stress.” 

 

“Yeah.” Shaun huffs and leans more against the railing of the balcony. “I guess.”

 

“You from a year ago wouldn’t have even set foot on this island.” He wonders if he’s making Shaun’s discontent worse and he  _ hopes  _ he isn’t.

 

“I know.” He stares out at the sea, seemingly lost in thought. “Sorry. I didn’t come out here to make you be my therapist.” 

 

“I don’t care. It’s better than Monopoly.” 

 

Shaun snorts and shoots him a betrayed look, “You  _ like  _ Monopoly. I know that from experience. You can’t honestly say you’d rather be out here listening to me whine than in there playing.”

 

“I just think it’s fascinating how finishing a game of Monopoly is impossible. We played  _ at least  _ three times against each other and nobody won.” He explains. He supposes that playing Monopoly so many times is a rarity with any couple, but then again, his and Shaun’s relationship had been anything but conventional.

 

Shaun shakes his head and looks at him fondly. “You’re such a geek.”

 

“Just because I’m not the pinnacle of masculinity like you doesn’t mean that I’m a geek.”

 

He laughs. “You are, but that’s alright.”

 

“I’m not!”

 

Shaun laughs again. “Come on, it’s cold. Is it too white-knighty to remind you that you’re shivering?”

 

“Get out.” He’s not.

 

“We are out, and you are.” 

 

He might be shivering. So what? He can handle it. He’s got his thickest winter jacket on  _ and  _ he’s a giant man. He can deal with it. 

 

“Come on. Let’s go inside. You can tell all the kids about how you’ve never beaten me at Monopoly, and also not freeze to death while you’re at it.” The shorter man stands and offers him a hand. 

 

Breen sets his jaw and stubbornly refuses to move. He doesn’t know why. It is  _ bloody  _ cold.

 

“We have a long walk past a tapu lake tomorrow and I’m not carrying you if your feet fall off from frostbite. Come  _ on. _ ”

 

The proffered hand is still intruding irritatingly in his peripheral vision, so he takes it and gets dragged to his feet. Shaun is  _ strong,  _ something Breen remembers fairly well from their time together. 

 

“You’re a pest.” He says.

 

“So are you.” Shaun replies, far too fondly. “Come on.”

 

So he does. 

 


	3. haunted

He finds himself walking next to the other Sam when they set off the next morning. His back hurts, but there’s nothing he can do about it. Four more days to go! Jared, Kristen and most of the others are walking a few metres ahead of them.

 

“We’re going to have to do something about this name thing.” Sam says, very bluntly. 

 

He’s trying to adjust his pack where it’s digging into his ribs. “Are we?”

 

“Yes. You know how many times I thought I heard my name yesterday and people were just calling for you? Serves me right for being called one of the most popular names in the world, but yeah… We have to do something about it.”

 

Breen gets the feeling that the girl is happy to have someone else to talk to. “I’m all ears.”

 

“You could be alt-Sam? Y’know, like alternative facts, except less terrible?”

 

He laughs. “You’ve been paying attention to the news.”

 

“Threat of global catastrophe does that to a girl. I’m 23, I’m voting again this year. C’mon.” She frowns at him, but there’s absolutely no malice in it. 

 

“Fair enough.” He agrees. “Why do I have to be alt-Sam though?”

 

“Because I was here first.” It’s as good an argument as any.

 

“Fair enough. You have to tell Shaun that though.” He’s still struggling with his pack. There’s a buckle somewhere and he can’t seem to fix it. “Can you give me a hand?” 

 

“Sure.” She fiddles around his back and fixes the problem almost immediately. The sharp pain vanishes from his ribs.

 

“You’re a genius. How come you managed to do that?”

 

“Experience.” She thumps his backpack and moves back to walk next to him. “You need a better pack if you’re going to be doing this more often. Yours doesn’t look like it’s going to last the trip.”

 

“I take it you do this a lot, then?” It’s nice to have someone to talk to who isn’t constantly ribbing him about his relationship with Shaun. Sam seems like a pretty good kid (if kid is the term he should be using for someone only seven years younger than him).

 

“Last few years. Before Shaun took over, even. I don’t know if I’m even a troubled kid anymore but I like being out in the forest.” 

 

“Why were you a troubled kid?” Breen asks and immediately regrets it. He’s being far too personal. This isn’t fair on the woman.

 

She pauses, considers. “Got assaulted a few years back. Y’all locked him away and all but I can’t do cities much anymore. Suppose I got a bit angry after that… It’s nice out here. No dark corners.”

 

The words that she doesn’t say hang in the air between them.

“Fuck,” He breathes, aware he’s made a very bad decision, and suddenly  _ so  _ sorry he’d asked. “Shit, I’m sorry I shouldn’t ha-”

 

“Shut up.” She interrupts him, still staring resolutely forward. “Don’t feel sorry for me. It happened. I have to live with it.”

 

The rest is silence.

  
  
  


They stop near a lake for lunch. The left side of the lake is blanketed with trees - thick to the point where he can’t even see through them. Breen knows the sea is somewhere just past the lake, but he can’t see it. Sometimes the island feels weird that way.

 

He still feels like an asshole. He shouldn’t have pried - knew it was a bad idea, and had still done it anyway.  _ Fuck.  _ Even as a cop, even as someone with  _ training, _ he’s still got a way of always putting his foot in it.

 

“You’re quiet.” Kristen says, joining him as he’s just dragging a sandwich out of his bag. It’s a bit squashed, but edible.

 

He sighs. “Said some stuff I shouldn’t have.”

 

Kristen gives him an odd look. “Okay, well, keep an eye on Jack and Maia, eh? They seem like they’re plotting something, and I think it’s our job to keep them from doing anything stupid.” 

 

He looks over, spots Jack and Maia sitting together and laughing. He would make a quip about appearances and all, but he’s not feeling it right now. “Will do.”

 

She seems surprised at his lack of argument. “Okay. Well. You know people have gone missing at this lake?”

 

“What?!” He draws his legs back from the lapping waves and gives her a look. “What do you mean?”

 

“There’s four cases from this part of the island, alone. People just go hiking and disappear in this area. You need to do your research.”

 

“I’m not going to research a hiking trail.” 

 

“Lake Kuku, they call it. People think it’s haunted or something, even though the last death was five years ago.” Kristen raises her eyebrows at him. “Really makes you think.”

 

“Don’t scaremonger.” He twists his face up at her. “Come on. Really?”

 

“Yes. Cold cases. People just disappear, but there’s no way to look in bush this dense.” She shrugs, “Adds a bit of colour to this hike, doesn’t it?”

 

“Something like that.” He takes some of the trail mix she offers. “I’m never going to sleep again.”

  
  


Later that day, they reach the Ridge Hut. The Hut is built on a ridge, about halfway up the mountain. It’s smaller than the Silver Hut, but the view makes up for its size. From the porch, he can see all the way down the mountain, across Lake Kuku, and out to the sea. It’s beautiful, and despite the pain in his shoulders and across his back, it’s damn-well worth it. 

 

He helps cook risotto - made mostly from dry goods left in the Hut, but also with some things they’d brought in their packs, and then collapses onto one of the bunks, completely ready to doze off. It’s not even eight pm, and yet…

 

No. He gets off the bed, heads outside, does what needs to be done, and turns around to go back into the warmth… when he hears something moving in the bush.

 

This isn’t just the wind. It’s something  _ moving.  _ Surely it’s got to be a kiwi or a giant weta or something as equally natural and terrible, right?

 

Kristen’s history lesson from earlier in the day echos loud and irritatingly in his head. If she hadn’t said anything, he’d be treating this reasonably. He’d be logical. He wouldn’t be staring off into the dark forest, heart thudding in his chest.

 

It’s just a kiwi, he needs to calm down. 

 

The unknown seems scarier than the alternative. He turns tail and flees inside, pretending everything is fine. The warmth and people are a comfort, but he still doesn’t want to go back out until daybreak.


	4. peak

 

A shout from Jack abruptly wakes him the next morning. “What the fuck, my torch’s gone!”

 

He cracks open an eye. Around him, the rest of the group are slowly waking up and don’t look too pleased about it. 

 

Bugger. Guess he needs to be the one to do something about this.

  
  


Outside is cold and frosty. He wishes he’d put on a jacket. “What’s wrong?” 

 

“My torch’s gone. I hung it here last night and now it’s gone.” Jack folds his arms in front of him and glares Breen down. 

  
“Have you checked around for it?”

 

“Yeah, of course I have, man. Come on.” Jack gets even more irate, if that’s even possible.

 

Sam joins them, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. “No way. My boots are gone too.”

 

Sure enough, there’s a gap on the floor in the middle of the line up of boots. 

 

This… this isn’t good. Breen’s got a pretty good grasp on facial expressions and tones of voice, and these kids don’t seem to be lying. Unless someone else in the group has taken their things, he has no idea where they’ve gone. 

 

Shaun’s reaction to the whole thing is even worse. He looks… frightened, and visibly pales. “No way.” He breathes. 

 

“What.” Breen doesn’t want to deal with this shit at all, but especially not at seven in the morning. “What is it?”

 

“There’s been… stories… around here.” Shaun shifts edgily. “Of… people whose things go missing - and then they disappear.”   
  


“What. The fuck.” Breen says, because what else is he supposed to say? Shaun’s the kind of guy who would fight a razor-backed pig if it looked at him the wrong way, and to see him so unnerved…? It’s not a pleasant feeling. “You kept on taking tours here when there were rumours about bad things happening?”

 

“The last disappearance was five years ago, Sam…” Shaun whines softly, through his teeth, “And they’re just myths. They’re the sorta thing your koro would tell you to warn you off going into the forest alone. There’s no truth to them.”

 

“Then how do you explain this?” Breen glances around them - to where Sam is putting on a spare pair of boots that she’d found in the hut, and Jack is lamenting the loss of his torch. “How? How do we even have cold cases for this damn place?”

 

“The weather can get… violent.” Shaun shrugs, still looking ill. “It’s not unheard of for people to just… fall off the mountain.”

 

“Sam’s boots didn’t just ‘fall off the mountain’, did they?”

 

“No. Look, I can’t explain it, okay. There’s no way back, anyway. We’re halfway through the trip. We go up to Peak Tonight, down to the Ridge Hut on the other side tomorrow. Two days out and we get to the border gate with Sunvale. It’s faster.” He explains. “Way faster. Backtracking wouldn’t help.”

“And?”   
  


“I don’t really want to walk past Lake Kuku again. That place creeps me out.”

 

Breen throws up his hands. “Fine.”

  
  


The rest of the day’s walk is sobering.

 

Breen’s talked to Kristen and Jared about the whole thing - and even they have to agree with Shaun. There’s really no point in going back. There’s no cell service anywhere on this side of the island, and Sunvale is closer than the DOC Hut.

 

This whole trip was a bad idea. Breen hates the outside for many reasons and the threat of ‘people just go disappearing in it’ is one of them.

 

Maybe it’s just one of the kids playing a prank. He hopes it is, but he can’t seem to shake the feeling that something was watching him last night. 

 

The forest opens out into tussock as they climb. It’s cold up here, but the view is extraordinary. In the distance, out across the sea, he can see Brokenwood shining, caught in the morning light like some kind of incandescent jewel.

 

Sometimes being outside makes you appreciate the smaller things.

 

He supposes he’d be able to focus more on them if he wasn’t so worried about the potential threat to their lives. 

 

It’s a myth, sure, but a lot of myths are based in fact.


	5. run

 

Night falls somberly at the Peak Hut. Shaun instructs them to keep the noise down - “because he doesn’t want to disturb the wildlife”, or something, but Breen thinks there’s a different reason for it.

 

Shaun’s getting antsy. That much is obvious, the way he can’t seem to keep still and keeps on snapping at people left and right. It worries Breen, because Shaun’s the only person who knows the way out of here, and he’s not going to be much use if he gets any angrier. 

 

Breen just can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong. He doesn’t know if it’s the outside, or if it’s his innate spider-sense for ‘things that are potentially scary’, but it feels like something is watching them.

 

“I’m going to keep watch.” Kristen says, later, as though there’s not even a reason to discuss it. “I’ll do 12-3am, if someone else wants to do before and after that.”

 

The kids are all in the corner, talking quietly over a pack of cards. They’re subdued as well. Kids are more perceptive than people think, it wouldn’t surprise Breen if they’d picked up on what’s going wrong. Shaun, Jared, Kristen and himself are perched around a roughly-hewn wood table. Breen has a chair with a wobbly leg.

 

“I’ll do 9-12.” He volunteers. He’ll probably be awake anyway.

 

“And I’ll do 3-6.” Jared offers. “Shaun, mate, get some sleep. You’re freaking out.” 

 

“But I-”

 

“No.” Breen says, his tone surprising even himself. “Go to bed, man. You’re not going to be able to lead us out of here if you’re delirious from lack of sleep.”

 

“Fine.” Shaun softens, but only just. “Wake me up if anything happens, though, okay?”

  
  


Breen’s watch time goes fine. He sits by the window, illuminated by only one lamp, and looks out at the lights of Brokenwood, so far in the distance. It’s a fairly light night, and the moon casts an odd, silver light over everything. It’s a beautiful sight, but he wishes he could have seen it under better circumstances. His back aches from carrying his pack, but it’s a good kind of ache - the kind that comes when muscles are getting stronger, better.

 

The kids are asleep, or talking quietly in their sleeping bags. Shaun’s dozing, sleeping bag thrown over his feet, Jared’s squinting madly at a grubby paperback copy of  _ Into the River  _ and Kristen’s buried almost entirely in her sleeping bag.

 

It’d be a nice picture, if Breen wasn’t so on edge.

  
  


He wakes Kristen at 12 without much hassle and gladly takes her place on the mattress. (It’s a tramping hut - that’s basically how things work.)

 

Sleeping fitfully kinda works, at least until Kristen shakes him awake at 2 without any warning. The room is dimly lit, with only one lantern on, and he blinks groggily at her. She’s crouched right down next to his face, and she looks worried.

 

“I don’t want to alarm you,” she says, “but there’s definitely someone outside.”

 

“What?!” He hisses, only remembering to lower his voice at the very last second. “What do you mean?”

 

“Someone’s been prowling around. Definitely a human. Or humans. No way is it a pig or anything. Not up here.” 

“How do you know?” This whole situation screams ‘danger’ to him, but he needs to get all the facts before they act.

 

“Someone was fiddling with the front door.” She whispers. “It’s locked. Same with the windows. I don’t think they know about the back one. I couldn’t see anyone, but I could  _ hear  _ them, Breen. You have got to believe me.”

 

“I do believe you.” Of course he does. She’s one of the people whose opinion he can trust absolutely. Generally. “What the hell do we do?”

 

“Wait the night out.” She says. She looks determined. “In here, we’ve got a barrier between us and them - whoever they are. Out there, they know the territory.”

 

She’s got a good point. 

 

That’s when the gods of fortune decide to royally fuck them over and the banging starts. It’s fists on the windows, the walls, everything. The front of the hut shakes widely and  _ everyone  _ else in the room wakes up. 

 

As well as the banging, there’s loud noises too. Growls and moans. It’s like the assailants, whoever the hell they are - have reached into Breen’s nightmares and just hauled a load of things out.

 

Shaun leaps off his bed, trips and comes stumbling towards the pair. “What the fuck is that?” He has to speak normally to be heard over the cacophony, but at this point it hardly matters.

 

“The people who’ve been following us for two days, I’d think.” Kristen says. “We need to do something.” 

 

“What can we do?” Breen asks. They’ve no idea who’s out there - how they’re making noise - what weapons they might have. They’re in the worst possible position that they can be in.

 

Shaun seems to make a split second decision. “We’re making a run for it. Grab your stuff, as much as you can carry without it slowing you down. I’ll tell the kids.” He takes off towards them and Jared.

 

“Making a run for it? In the middle of the night, on top of a mountain, IN WINTER?” Breen hisses at Kristen. “On a list of bad ideas, that’s the  _ worst  _ one.”

 

Kristen looks like she agrees with him, but as she’s about to speak, one of the windows in the hut shatters. From the outside. “You know what?  Fuck safety right now. They’re getting in. I don’t think we have any other option.”

 

She’s his superior and there’s really no disagreeing. Not at this point. “Okay.” He scrambles over the mattresses in a haste to pull his shoes on and pack what he can into his pack. The kids are packing too, and pulling on jackets and shoes. 

Another window shattering stops them in their tracks for a moment, but they quickly resume their movements. 

 

“Take the back door out.” Shaun rejoins him, barking instructions. “I would say go up to the observatory, but they’re between us and it. Take the path down towards the historical village. It’s really well-marked. That’s about half an hour down if you walk, so if you run it’ll be even faster. Wait for me there. It’s confusing and I doubt they’ll trail you all the way down there.” 

 

“What do you mean ‘wait for me?’” Breen hisses, Shaun’s plan suddenly becoming apparent. “You can’t mean-”

 

“Yeah. Gotta lead them off or else they’ll follow you. I know this place like the back of my hand. I’ll catch you up. Promise.”

 

“I’ll help you.” Breen says, desperately. “I’ll stay as well. Two people are better than one.”

 

“Breen, you were the slowest on our rugby team. I’m small and fast. Don’t be an idiot.” 

 

“Don’t do this, Shaun.”

 

Something loud and heavy  _ cracks _ against the front door. All thoughts of procedure have gone out of Breen’s mind. He just wants to escape - to run - but he doesn’t want to leave anyone behind. 

 

“I’ll be fine, Sam.” Shaun grabs him tightly in a hug, just for a second, and then lets him go. “Remember what I said. Down to the historical village. Find a building to camp out in. If I’m not there by sunrise, take the path to the Emplacement Hut, and then walk north up the beach towards Sunvale.” 

 

“But-”

 

“Take the kids, out the back door.” Shaun gestures towards the back door, where everyone else is now waiting. ‘Don’t turn your torches on unless you have to.” 

 

“But-”

 

“ _ Go _ , Sam,” Shaun says, and pushes him away. 

 

As soon as he reaches the others, Kristen throws the back door open and urges the kids through. “Down the hill, follow the sign to the village! Stay together and run!”

 

He runs, pack banging heavily on his back.

 

“Come and get me you hippie fucks!” Shaun screams from inside the cabin as they all run off into the night.


	6. emplacement

They pelt off down the path, packs swinging wildly in the darkness. It’s not too bad out, perfectly seeable, but the danger hanging over their heads ruins it. 

 

Kristen’s shorter and fitter than him and she leads the way with Jared following behind. The kids follow them and Breen takes up the rear. He doesn’t want to know what will happen if he doesn’t keep up.

 

Behind them, a gunshot ricochets through the underbrush. It doesn’t sound too close but Breen instinctively ducks anyway. In front of him, one of the girls trips and falls, her cry echoing in the woods around them.

 

One of the others stops next to her - in the dark Breen can’t quite make out who. He waves her away. “Go. I’ve got this.” 

 

“But-”

 

“Go!” 

 

She goes.

 

“Megan, can you walk?” Breen hisses, well aware that their attackers could be coming after them at any moment. He doesn’t know where Shaun is, doesn’t know what that gunshot was, doesn’t even know if he’s still al-

 

No. He doesn’t have time for this. 

 

The younger girl tries to put weight on her left foot and stumbles as she does. “No.” She gasps. “Twisted. Fuck!”

 

“Come on.” Breen hauls her to her feet and puts her arm around his waist. There’s a pretty significant height difference, but that’s not exactly a rarity for him. “Balance on me.” 

 

They can’t run, but they can definitely hop along pretty fast. 

 

Behind them, more gunshots crack through the underbrush, and they sound even closer than before.

 

Jared’s waiting for them at a signpost several hundred metres down the track. “Kristen’s gone left.” He says, only slightly out of breath. “Need help?”

 

“Yeah.” Breen says, gratefully. The height difference is making dragging Megan along challenge. He shifts her over to Jared and immediately he’s able to move again. “Come on.”

 

“Yeah.” 

 

They take off down the path to the left. The path to the right leads towards the Lake Hut, with absolutely no directions towards the DOC building. They’re in the depths of the forest now. 

 

There’s another gunshot and a terrible, awful scream that stops Breen in his tracks.

 

“Come on,” Jared hisses. “There’s nothing you can do now.”

 

That doesn’t mean that he’s happy that he left Shaun behind.

 

“I know, I know.” He shakes his head. Not the time.

  
  


What’s even worse is that it is beginning to rain. Water pours down around them, making their route slippery and the path harder to see. Breen trips and almost goes down but manages to steady himself on a soaking wet tree.

 

At least the awful weather seems to have slowed their pursuers as well.

  
  


They make it to the village just as the rain is beginning to let up. The clouds overhead are thinning, and the sky’s opening up again. He’s covered in mud and damp to his skin, but they’ve made it. 

 

Hopefully their pursuers, whoever they might be, won’t know where they went. Hopefully they’ll think they went towards the Lake Hut, not wanting to spend a night in a shadowy ruined village.

 

Breen hopes, because what other choice does he have?

  
  


Kristen’s standing by the entrance to a crumbling stone and wood building in the depths of the village. It only has half a roof, is recessed somewhat into the ground, and has empty windows. From inside, Breen can see torches waving around.

 

“About time you showed up.” Kristen says, but there’s an underlying thread of relief in her voice.

 

“That’s me, always on time.” He replies, but it’s good to see her too.

 

Jared takes Megan into the building and Breen moves to follow. Kristen grasps him by the arm. “We need to talk about our next move.”

 

“Do what Shaun said.” He replies immediately. “He knows his way round this place. We don’t.”

 

“Yeah.” She agrees. “The kids are a bit banged up, though, and I don’t know if they’re going to make it down the beach without help.” 

 

“What do you mean?” He asks, but another  _ crack  _ of a gunshot echoes around the valley before Kristen has a chance to speak.

 

“Cuts, bruises, sprains - don’t think there’s any breaks but it’s a near thing.” She says, under her breath. “We’ll patch them up and see how far we get.”

 

“Good idea.” It’s better than any other ideas that he has. 

  
  


It’s fairly dry inside the hut but not particularly warm. He’s drenched to the skin and beginning to feel it. The kids are grouped together, putting plasters on injuries and huddling to keep warm. There’s really nothing he can do to help them, so he drops his pack to the floor and starts stripping off his gear. He definitely didn’t manage to grab much in their scramble to leave the hut - most of his bag is muesli bars - but there’s a hoodie that will do. ‘Brokenwood High School’, it reads.  _ 2005\.  _

 

He’s certainly not changed much since high school. The hoodie’s over a decade old and all though it’s threadbare, it still fits comfortably.

 

He can’t say he’s  _ warm  _ but it’s better than the alternative. 

  
  


Morning breaks across Brokenwood Island with the crack of a gunshot. It's been hours, and they're still not letting up.

 

Inside the junky wooden cabin, Breen and Kristen are hunkered together for warmth. Behind them, a group of youths, some broken and bleeding, do much the same.

 

It's the middle of winter in Brokenwood, and they've just walked into a trap.

 

At least, it feels like it. There’s been shots breaking the stillness of the forest all night, but they don’t seem to be getting any closer or moving further away. It’s like their pursuers are taunting them, trying to get them to emerge from their hiding place so they don’t have to hunt them down. 

 

“No Shaun.” Kristen says, after a moment. The sun’s been rising for a while now, and he’s not shown up. 

“No Shaun.” He agrees. He’s not going to think about it, not going to think about the nausea curling in the pit of his stomach, not going to wonder if they’re going to stumble upon his body on the track. Not now.

 

She leans her head on his shoulder for a moment and her actions say more than her words ever could. “It’s dawn. Guess we should get going. He’ll find us.”

 

“Yeah.” He’s not going to think about it.

  
  


They wake the kids who managed to get to sleep, and instruct them to pack up their things quietly. They’re a broken and battered bunch but Breen’s surprised that they’ve managed to hold up as long as they have. He distributes a handful of muesli bars in thanks.

 

Maia looks like she’s going to cry when she gets hers. She’s far from the snarky, mischievous character he saw at the start of the camp. “Thanks.”

 

The others seem about as relieved to see some semblance of food.

  
  


Kristen leads the way out of the camp. The shooting’s died down - for now - (Breen still has no idea what they were shooting at), but they’re all wary. They find their way to the Encampment Hut, which is a few minutes down the path, and it’s completely empty, without any sort of food or creature comforts inside. 

 

“Useless.” Jared says, tipping over the doorstop with his foot. He doesn’t look happy, but at this point, none of them are.

 

“Yeah.” Breen agrees. “Guess we move on.” He huffs, but at least it means they won’t be hanging around. He wants to get off this island as soon as possible. 

 

The Encampment Hut leads out to the beach, so that’s where they go. No Shaun.

 

Still, they go. 

 

In the distance, the edge of the boundary fence between the Northern part of the island and the Southern glimmers faintly. Breen can see the roofs of Sunvale stretching high beyond it. They’re close. This nightmare is nearly over.

 

That is, of course, when another gunshot cracks behind them, and  _ this one  _ sounds really close. 

 

Brokenwood Island tends to have a cruel sense of irony. This is  _ why  _ Breen never comes out here. “Run!” 

 

And so they run - or at least, hobble - their way down the beach. Megan’s foot’s still acting up, and both Dan and Brodie have sharp cuts that must be hurting them. But, they keep on going.

 

These kids are stubborn as hell.

  
  


They have to stop a kilometre or so later. It’s just getting too much. The pressure of their pursuer, the weight of their packs, the challenge of running on damp sand, the loss of Shaun - it’s just too much. 

 

If he estimates, they’re probably about two kms from Sunvale. They’re close. That’s close. They can do this. They  _ will  _ do this. 

 

At least, that’s what he’s thinking until two figures in hoodies, with bandanas tied over their faces, step out from the bush. They’re both carrying hunting rifles and pointing them straight at their group.

 

Dammit. He guesses the day really can get worse.


	7. the gunmen

“Stay back.” Breen warns the kids, even though he doesn’t at all feel capable of dealing with this himself. “Keep behind me.”

 

The kids shuffle back with Jared, but Kristen steps forward to join him.

Thank god. He doesn’t know if he could do it without her. They can’t run. It’d just provoke their assailants and they wouldn’t get very far anyway. They’ve got to talk their way out of this. It’s their only chance.

 

“You’ve been following us for days.” She says, going straight for the offensive. “What do you want from us?”

 

They were never taught  _ this  _ in police training college. They’d had a general ‘hostage negotiation’ workshop, but they’d never been the hostages. This is a completely different ballpark and he’s more scared than he’s ever been in his life.

 

“We want you to leave our island alone.” The left one responds. His voice is heavily accented, but it’s from somewhere that Breen can’t quite place. It sounds Kiwi, vaguely, but there’s something seriously off about it.

He neglects to mention that it isn’t really their island. “We’re trying to. When you let us walk out of here, there’s no chance we’ll be back ever again.”

 

That one is the truth. He’s never hiking again.

 

“It’s not just you!” The other person explodes. She’s angry, almost vibrating with it. Her hands clench even tighter on the rifle. “It’s you and your people and your rich fucking town. You have  _ no  _ respect for this place.”

“You’re right.” Kristen says, surprising him. “We’ve not treated your island well, but when you let us go, we’ll ensure that others do. We’ll give them your message.” 

 

She sounds like she’s lying, because he knows her that well. He just hopes that their assailants don’t.

 

“Oh, they’ll get a message alright.” The man says, scoffing. “Police stars Sam Breen and Kristen Simms, dead on Brokenwood Island beach with a whole group of kids. That’ll be enough of a warning. No-one would dare to come back.”

“You know who we are.” Breen says, tonelessly. How do they know who they are? How could they  _ possibly?  _ His heart’s thundering in his ears and he forces himself to take deep breaths. He can’t look at this emotionally. He  _ can’t.  _

“Yes, honey.” The woman says. “We do. Our little town will make the news when they discover your bodies. About time too.”

 

This is going off the rails. This isn’t right. They should be doing better than this. His hands start to sweat and he grips them tightly into fists, trying to regain some sort of control. His life is on the line, how can he not think of what to say?

 

“You want us off your island.  _ Why  _ do you want us off your island?” Kristen asks, clearly trying to regain some control of the situation. 

The woman huffs. “I’m tired of this.”

 

She raises her rifle again.

 

“Wait, wait, wait, wait.” Breen says, because he’s got to say  _ something.  _ His mouth feels dry. This isn’t right. This isn’t right at all. “You kill two cops, you get locked away for life. Away from the island, away from the outside. They’ll comb this place until they find you.”

“That’s funny.” The man replies, “That’s what the others over at Kuku said, all those years ago. We’re still here.”

 

Kuku. The others?  Does that mean- they- they couldn’t have. The Brokenwood police had _combed_ this island and found no sign of anything other than the bodies.  


 

“Fuck this.” The woman raises her rifle again, as does the man, and they point them directly at them. “Let’s get this done.” 

And she doesn’t even sound the least bit regretful about it.

 

Breen squeezes his eyes shut as two shots ring out across the beach.


	8. the end

And then the screaming starts.

 

But it’s not his screaming, nor Kristen’s and it’s not coming from behind them. 

He opens his eyes and falls to his knees at the sight in front of him.

 

Shaun, holding a rifle of his own, standing victorious over the writhing bodies of the two assailants. 

 

_ Oh my god.  _

He’s alive.

Shaun’s alive. 

 

“Miss me, kids?!” He yells, and comes running towards them, rifle (thankfully) pointed at the ground.

 

Breen sinks to the ground and just takes a moment to restart his heart. Shit. He’s alive. It’s over. It’s over. It’s over.

 

He doesn’t realise that he’s saying that out loud until Shaun comes over and drags him to his feet. “Not over, mate. There’s a bunch of them still coming. I’m not a one-man miracle.” 

“Yeah, fuck you.” Breen says, on the verge of ugly-crying (and he’s not going to do that in front of his workmates, he still has standards) and drags Shaun into a hug.

 

The hug lasts barely a second because Breen realises that Shaun’s dripping on him.

 

Blood. There’s a lot of it. 

 

“It’s mostly mine.” Shaun says, with a shrug, “But it’s not that bad.”

“You’re an idiot.” He says, fondly, wiping the smeared blood off his cheek with one of his sleeves. (They’re already ruined, it really doesn’t matter at this point.)

“We can argue later.” He says, and punches Breen in the shoulder. “Deal with them, and let’s get going. I want a shower and at least two people arrested - preferably in that order.”

“...I thought I’d never see you again.” Breen says quietly, before walking towards the two assailants. 

“Sentimentalist!” Shaun yells in his direction, as he heads towards the kids.

 

Breen strips both of the assailants of their weapons, being careful not to touch any of the rifles with his bare hands (fingerprints, always about the prints) and manages to tie both of the people to a nearby tree. He memorises their faces (nothing too spectacular, though the man does have one long scar down his cheek) and leaves them be. 

 

Shaun’s a good shot. He got the man in the lower leg and the woman in the shoulder. They’ll both be fine, although probably fairly uncomfortable, until they can come back and get them.

 

“Ready to take off?” Shaun says, coming back to him just as he’s washing the blood off his hands in the sea.

“Are you? You look wobbly.”

“All good.” He’s wrapped a bandana around the top of his head, but there’s still blood seeping through from a large gash high on his forehead. “It’ll stop soon. We need to get out of here. There’s a lot of them coming.”

“Okay.” Breen says, “Just… be careful.”   


“I’m always careful.” Shaun says, as he jogs off and nearly trips over a piece of driftwood.

  
  


They take off down the beach. It’s only a few k’s to the boundary fence to the top part of the island, but it feels like forever. 

 

When they actually reach the boundary fence, they have to wade right into the ocean to bypass it. 

 

The salt in his cuts  _ sting,  _ but it’s better than the alternative.

 

Shaun grunts as he ducks beneath the water, his jaw going tight and tense. 

“You alright?” Jared steadies him.

“I have a fairly big chest wound, yeah.” Shaun grits his teeth and breathes in sharply through his nose. “Might be bleeding out. Hope I’m not. I’ll be fine.” 

 

The pool of blood floating out from around him seems to say otherwise.

 

“You need a doctor, mate.” Jared remarks, still holding Shaun up with one arm.

“Yeah, well, we all do.” Shaun gestures around at the entire group, none of whom look very well-off themselves.

 

And then finally,  _ finally _ , they’re past the barrier, with the southern part of Brokenwood Island behind them.

The outskirts of Sunvale are only mere metres from them.

 

They’ve done it. 

 

They’ve  _ survived. _

 

Breen, using the last vestiges of his strength, drags himself around the houses near them until he finds one with someone in it. With all the politeness he can muster - and considering it’s midday on a Thursday and he’s been up half the night it’s a pretty near thing - he asks the elderly woman inside if he can use her phone.

Phone call to the station made (and Mike sounds uncharacteristically worried, which is a miracle in itself) Breen thanks the old woman and goes back outside.

 

Everyone’s slumped down in the grass, which is thick and soft and peppered with little daisies.

 

Breen peels his bag off his back, wincing at the movement - he wouldn’t be surprised if there’s welts where it was resting - and collapses onto the grass next to Shaun. Kristen and Jared are propped up on their elbows nearby, looking out to the sea, and the kids are throwing grass at each other with very little enthusiasm.

Shaun looks woozy, and very bleary-eyed, but he still smiles weakly when Breen sits down.

 

“Not much longer now.” Breen says, and collapses onto his back. It hurts, but if he stands any longer he might just fall asleep on his feet. “Still in one piece?”

“...Barely.” Shaun groans. “Think I’m about a pint lighter than I was this time yesterday.”

“Bleeding out is a great weight loss plan.” Breen replies. 

“It is.” Shaun reaches out blindly and pats him on the chest. “You did good. Might make a hiker out of you yet.” 

Breen snorts. “I am  _ never  _ hiking again.”

“So you didn’t enjoy our little trip at all?”

“It was very pretty until everyone started trying to kill us.”

“Touche.” Shaun slides his hand down, finds Breen’s, and grasps it.

 

It’s not very ‘traditional Kiwi masculinity’ of them to be holding hands in a field full of daisies, but somehow, Breen can’t bring himself to care. Considering how much he’s shaking, having just now realised the exact magnitude of the expedition they’ve been on and how much they’ve beaten, it’s a welcome anchor tying him to land.

He suspects this might be what shock feels like.

 

He dozes off and wakes again at the sound of a loud thrumming overhead. A police helicopter flies over them, impossibly loud in the silence of the the town. 

“No way.” Breen slurs, tongue numbed by tiredness, “they sent a helicopter. We  _ must  _ be special,” and promptly falls back to sleep again. 

  
  


Things happen very quickly after that.

 

As he’s floating in and out of consciousness, everyone gets airlifted to Brokenwood Hospital. Shaun gets whisked off to surgery and Breen comes to in a hospital bed, resoundingly plastered up. 

 

Mike’s sitting on the chair beside his bed, looking uncharacteristically worried.

 

“Sir?” Breen tries to straighten up, even imperceptibly.

“Relax, Breen. You’ve had quite the week, or so I hear.”

“That’s one way of putting it.”

“Why is it that everytime I assign you two to something, it always goes dramatically wrong?” Mike sighs, fondly. “Never mind. I wanted to get your statement. Kristen’s told me everything she knows, but I still want to hear it from you.” 

“What about the two guys on the beach?” Breen asks.

“We’re sending people out there now. Don’t worry.” 

  
“Okay.” Breen swallows. “Good.” Then he tells Mike their long, harrowing tale all over again.

He doesn’t embellish it or anything, because he’s a good police officer.

 

“Do you think that those people were following you from the time you got onto the island?”

“ _ At least  _ from around Lake Kuku. I could  _ feel  _ someone watching me, and I know that’s dumb, but I’m sure I did. You know there was three or four unsolved deaths from around there, right?” Breen asks.

“Yes. Mostly gunshot wounds, but the most recent was five years ago. CIB couldn’t find anything on the owners of the weapons.” 

“I think they’re connected. Are you sure that there’s not anything that we missed? I think there’s people living out there.”

“Considering you took down a couple of the people following you, I’m sure we’ll be able to find out soon.” Mike stands, pats Breen on the foot and goes to leave. “You did well, Sam.”

 

He nearly tears up at that which is a sure sign he needs more sleep.

  
  


It turns out that there  _ were  _ people hiding on the island, all this time. The police comb the island again, based on the tip-offs from the two assailants they arrested, and finds an entire community living within the thick copse of trees on the western side of Lake Kuku. They also find three bodies in varying states of decomposition, as well as the guns that fired the bullets that killed them. Apparently the people living on the island wanted to keep outsiders away, and thought that murdering them in cold blood was the way to do that.

 

It’s not the worst ending to a case they’ve ever had.

(Breen’s never going hiking again.)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and we are done! thanks for reading, y'all.

**Author's Note:**

> check me out on [tumblr](http://villainousfilmmaker.tumblr.com)  
> or [twitter](http://twitter.com/skyuni123)


End file.
